Maverick-y Seasonal Affective Disorder

I’m having trouble writing mostly because I feel like I have nothing to say. I mean, there are other problems. I’m not disciplined, I procrastinate, I look for any excuse not to work and then I devote my time to legitimating the excuse I’ve come up with. It’s a sad pattern, greatly exacerbated in winter. You know, when it’s grey outside and you can’t tell whether it’s dusk or that’s just the day. 8am looks the same as 4pm. We’re too hard on Sarah Palin. The cold and lack of light does things to a person. If I had to spend a winter up there, you’d have difficulty diagramming my sentences too. Hell, I’m surprised she’s not catatonic.

My seasonal affective disorder is pretty predictable. It’s like a menstrual cycle: let’s see, it’s been three weeks since I last saw sunshine, so I should be getting depressed by Tuesday morning. Usually, it hits February 20th and stays till around, oh, March 20th. In December, winter is this quaint little idea—a novelty that makes Christmas feel authentic. In January, there’s my birthday to look forward to. And Valentine’s Day is cool because my boyfriend and I make each other something. But after Valentine’s Day, there’s nothing to look forward to. It becomes just a matter of waiting out the rest of winter. And in the northeast, winter doesn’t end till mid-April. You’ll get a warm day here and there at the end of March, beginning of April. But it’s just a tease, meant to sink you back into the depression it took you weeks to shake.

I don’t know what it is but this year my seasonal affective disorder has hit early. And just like a menstrual cycle that shouldn’t be due yet, I am bitter. I’m thinking, “Hey! You’re not supposed to come for another four days!” Or month. Nevertheless, it’s raining on my parade.

It’s tough enough when it hits mid-February and there’s two months left of winter to wait out. But to have it happen now—to have to wait out three months—I may just come out of it saying, “You betcha!”